


Noise

by ravenhairedtrickster



Category: Fury (2014)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenhairedtrickster/pseuds/ravenhairedtrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noise

It's a loud rumble, muffled by the earphones in his helmet, however, it's still there, still loud. Boyd sleeps restlessly for what seems like long hours, merely laying curled in his spot, the Fury trudging on through god forsaken muddy no-man-lands and roads lined with bodies. 

On occasion he slips deeper, finding respite in the darkness of his dreams- though even that is rare. They're in technicolor, vivid and equally as horrific as the real world. Even in his dreams Boyd can't escape the noise of the Fury.

They've stopped in a small German village of maybe two hundred people. Boyd's well aware of Grady and Gordo disappearing in search of women and booze, and he's long since forgiven them for their lack of restraint. 

Even Norman has wandered off, silently slipping away to find privacy- Boyd is well versed in reading a man right before he's about to break; he utters a quiet prayer in the kids favour.

He's tired, been unable to sleep with their seemingly never ending crawl along the German countryside. He's so tired and for once, finally, there is quiet, at least as quiet as it can get with loud soldiers loitering around outside. And Boyd can't begrudge them their happiness at the long needed break despite his fatigue. 

He's about to thumb open his small, worn bible when Don slides into the Fury. 

"You're not sleeping," Don says slowly, as though Boyd might not be able to keep up if he talks too fast.

"No I am not," Boyd replies.

"You need to. What am I going to do if we run into trouble and my gunner is slow on the uptake?" Don asks, lighting a cigarette as he speaks. He takes a few irritated puffs before snubbing it out.

"Can't sleep," Boyd mumbles, flipping to one of his favourite passages. "It's too loud."

Boyd is sure Don gives him a perplexed look when he says that because lord knows it's not loud at all. But then again maybe he doesn't because Boyd isn't expecting the fingers that are suddenly in his hair, the hand palming the back of his neck- and he leans into it. 

"You have to sleep, Bible," Don repeats, his voice soft. "I promised this group I'd keep them alive-"

"I know," Boyd interrupts, he puts the bible down.

"-and you know as well as I that I won't risk not getting you all to the end of this war. So, tell me what you need." 

It's an open invitation. Boyd shuts his eyes, leans back. 

"I don't know," he says and his voice shakes. He can't sleep. He'll only dream of the Fury and the destruction he causes. 

There's movement, Don shuffling down so he sits in Grady's spot, it's closer, it's easier, it's warm- Don's arms around him. Boyd doesn't bother to quiet himself, he's done that too much, voice lost in the cacophony of war.

And so in Fury's belly, muffled by her thick metal hide, he screams into Don's shoulder, shakes and shudders in his sure grasp. The hand at the nape of his neck is comforting, stroking the base of his skull, gently tugging the short hair there, grounding him.

It's like a pressure being released. Boyd slumps when Don finally eases his hold up and he blinks away tears as he stares at his commander, friend- _fuck_.

Don's hands haven't quite left him yet, remaining on his arms, rubbing up and down from elbow to shoulder and back. They're still incredibly close. 

Boyd watches Don eye the top hatch, judging silently before making his decision. 

Don's lips are chapped and his face rough. Boyd tastes grease and smoke and he grabs at the front of Don's jacket in desperation.

Footsteps echo through the Fury and Don jerks away, Boyd leans back in his seat, exhaling heavily. 

Norman's head pops through a hatch. 

"Someone found pie in a local bakery-" he begins.

"Go the fuck away," Don roars at him and Boyd allows himself a smile. The poor kid can't catch a break but he's thankful because Norman scurries off without a further word.

Don pats him on the leg, like he might pat a nervous horse. 

"You alright there, Boyd?" 

"Yes, sir," he murmurs.

"Anything else I can do?"

Boyd thinks on this. 

"Just talk."

Don nods, takes up his usual spot before buttoning the Fury down. This shuts out more of the noises outside.  
Boyd leans back, shoves his hands in his pockets and listens.

"Moma used to make the best damn pie in the North," he began, "Strawberry rhubarb to die for, that stuff had you drooling like a mastiff on a hot summer day. She'd entertain house parties every so often and that was the talk of the block, that and her sweet tea-"

Boyd shut his eyes, a grin on his face as sleep finally licked at the edges of his conscious.


End file.
